Like Stars
by Lutair
Summary: Prolog: Wherein children are discovered and magic is flaunted. .:T:. Because I have no muse. HowlSophie. .:Primarily Howl POV:.


**Hello: **Lutair  
**Rating:** T  
**Pairing: **Howl Sophie  
**Beta:** None  
**Warning:** Wherein I am allowed the liberties of an author with a rampant muse and little sleep. Almost cannon-verse. I've read both the book and the movie. Sort of a mash of the two, with a touch more of "Crazy Lu" in the mix.

This is most assuredly not mine.

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**Prolog: **Wherein small children are introduced and animals are mildly abused

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When Sophie Hatter was five years old – her second sister, Lettie, being three at the time – she discovered her talent for 'mischief making through unpractical arts' (as her Great Aunt Mildred so stated) by forcing a rather disgruntled and thoroughly unamused bull dog to skip a whole foot and a half above the ground. Skipping. Really.

Her parents were rather aghast at the display of magical talent (the fact that the dog belonged to one grumpy Great Aunt Mildred aside) and decided that, should she go untrained for any amount of time longer than absolutely necessary, their house, reputation, social standing, and business would plummet down the metaphorical tubes. She found it highly entertaining.

And so it was that Sophie Hatter, age eight – for the entry procedure into schools of exceptional magic credentials usually took such an unorthodox way of time for middle class citizens anyway – was sent away to The Official Ingarian School for Magical Education, leaving behind her (now two) younger sisters; Lettie, age six, and Martha, age four. She was, as it happened, a year and a half behind most of her classmates (her councilor Mrs. Suliman had insisted on something called 'Advanced Placement for Talented Children of Magical Power' or somesuch ridiculous thing that isolated children and made them socially awkward at a young age). This endeavor to obtain a better education left her as the youngest, smallest, generally miniaturized member of her class. Which made her alone. At that time, she would have said it was the better alternative.

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When Howell Jenkins was five years old, he discovered – through a series of practical trials and errors, assuredly – that he could, with vary little effort, work magic on the family cat. This revelation, though positively delightful on all accounts, was kept to himself. His elder sister Megan, then eleven, had never been particularly fond of wizard boys – a story that involved a long grape vine and a lot of jilting – and had vowed that, should any of her relatives even show the faintest glimmer of magical talent, she would bludgeon them about the head and shoulders with the nearest hard object. Howell rather liked his face, thank you.

At nine and a half, Howell was, as his elder sister so lovingly put it 'caught in the act'. He had – through some sort of genius he'd later claim – found a spell that let him imitate other people's voices. At the moment of discovery – by Megan no less – he had been proclaiming, in an airy voice far too feminine to be his own that, "I'm Megan and I'm a big liar and I keep a spare key under the daffodils so that I can sneak in at night." He did not squeal like a little girl when his sister surprised him. Really.

And so it was that Howell Jenkins, nearly beaten black and blue, was hastily admitted to The Official Ingarian School for Magical Education, because his family was surreptitiously well off and therein able to leap ahead – through wily donations of the currency kind – of such commonly named folk as the 'Hatters'.

Howell, being of outrageous boyish charm and charisma even before his tween years, had bent the entire female student body – at least those that were bendable, as at that time his suave composure had not been perfected in the slightest, but that was the majority anyway – to his will. He had never believed in the dreaded 'cootie' and, as far as he was concerned, it was as preposterous as a fire demon unable to make a flame. There were few girls too headstrong for his casual smiles and almost-debonair winks (as a child of nine and some such months he considered himself to be quite accomplished in the art of flattery), and even fewer that he could not 'turn 'round'. The ones he could not were either too young, too old, or ones he dared not provoke obsession from.

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As the years went by, the girls who he did not coerce were few and far between. Fewer still were the ones he wanted but could not obtain.

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As the years went by, Sophie, too, changed. The magic that she could not do, the spells she could not cast, became fewer and fewer, and there was little that could drive her away from her studies. Not boys, not outings with friends, nothing social. The only thing that had stopped her briefly was the death of her beloved – if not often seen – father, wherein she came back with renewed vigor to learn everything and anything of magical variety she could.

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All in all our characters seem to be on opposite sides of the social spectrum. Magic, however, and the conniving of one particular demon, a jealous witch, and a heartfelt prince, are never to be trifled with.

DWJ owns the book, Studio Ghibli & co. own the movie, etc., etc., so on and so forth. I own a donut, an idea, and little else.

For clarification (I confused myself while writing this, don't be worried) Howell and Sophie are a year and a half a part age wise, but due to Sophie's talent (and the erratic way I set up schools) they are in the same class by the time we actually role around to getting them into class. I'm putting my school in a 'talent based' regimen, so that, rather than age or grade, how much magical skill a child has depends on what class their in. Quite original. Really. . .


End file.
